


Maybe It's You

by captainhurricane



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Happy AU, M/M, Urban Fantasy, aka everyone gets to keep their fantasy characteristics, aka everyone lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 08:02:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2843933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainhurricane/pseuds/captainhurricane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>strangers on a train turns into maybe-sort-of-future-boyfriends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lovefool

**Author's Note:**

> there can never be too many au-fics right? and because i love meet-cutes sfm. might have a second part because nothing much happens in this one. yet. (i'm stormcaptain @ tumblr, come say hi!)

Before introduced to Garrett Hawke, you need to learn of Kirkwall. It is an old city, a very old one who has seen numerous wars and slave traders and even blood mages once upon a time but these days it holds the dark days of its past close to its thrumming heart: the sprawling shopping center born to the city center, close to where they once dragged slaves through large doors. Some of the creepiest statues have long since been torn down but some remain, a reminder of what was. Nowadays phones ring on age-old stones and kids play truant on the last remnants of stone walls or try to reach the villages the elves live in in the mountains. It is a one of a kind city, a modern city yes but it's history lives and breathes in its stones, the memory of the Blight that is nowadays like a bad dream, a story told to children to keep them in line. One of those children is Garrett Hawke who looks like he'd be right at home in the middle of a high fantasy-book, one of those ragtag novels you read on trains and long car rides but don't pay much attention to in the end.

x

If you met Garrett Hawke, you would probably like him, be instant friends like most of Kirkwall seem to be. Kirkwall may be a bit of a shithole, but still. Garrett Hawke. Somewhere in his thirties, broad-shouldered and tall and not always in good control of his limbs, does call this shithole home. Being a part-timer of everything (currently teaching a class of martial arts on Fridays and Saturdays and tinkering cars on Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays), Hawke has learned quite a lot, to be good with his hands and with his mind. Yet.

Yet. He's bored. He loves his family, his protective, loving parents who inhabit one of the finest houses in the finest parts of the city, his group of friends with whom he meets up in various cafés and the only pub in the city (the only pub worth it, says Varric Tethras, a millionare more at home here in hole-in-the-walls than driving a Porsche and pretty much the coolest person you could meet- he always smirks if you tell him so). Yet he watches Anders plow through another relationship, Isabela refusing to settle but seemingly perfectly alright with that, his own brother's adorable crush on the forever-perky Merrill and finds the hole in himself widening.

”What do you need a partner for when you have Dog,” Bethany says one day, two weeks before Christmas. She's wearing her hair in a bun today and the scent of freshly baked bread lingers around her. Nobody needs to know that she helps her muffins and bread stay so perfect with a touch of magic. Hawke snorts, drags a hand through his thick, black hair.  
”Hilarious, sister dear,” he huffs and takes a sip of his coffee. The Hawkes own a bakery slash café and even now Malcolm Hawke is talking on the phone in the backroom and Bethany is lingering by the counter, her smile quite a sight. Her own boyfriend is off on work study-thing somewhere, probably even now charming his way through everyone's hearts with his thick accent and adorably genuine nature.  
”I only think you shouldn't worry yourself over being single so much,” Bethany says but there is no trace of sarcasm in her, only genuine empathy. Hawke can't fault her for that for that is the reason he loves her little sister the most; her endless, delightful empathy and cheerful nature.

”You have people who love you very much,” she continues and Hawke sighs, smile a little crooked. If he was completely honest, he would admit that there was somebody he's interested in (not that he had ever talked to the man on the train but still, it had been enough to just look at him) but he doesn't want to get his hopes up- he doesn't want to get hopes up for anyone in his family or his Mother who always gazes at him with worry _(”Garrett, darling, you're already thirty-one-”)._

”I know. It's a little childish to worry but you know me, the worrywart of this family and all.” Bethany chuckles at that and reaches to ruffle her big brother's hair, making him rub his nose in his embarrassment.  
”Maybe you shouldn't have rejected when people actually wanted to go on dates with you, you big dumbo,” she says and waves goodbye to a parting customer and welcomes a new one.

”Who's a big dumbo?” Comes the cheerful voice from behind Hawke and he groans, lays his forehead on the counter. Bethany grins. Isabela, for it is she who came to the café wrapped in scarves and layers to protect against the cold, grins right back and leans to kiss Hawke's ear.  
”It's you, naturally. What were you talking about?” She sits next to Hawke beside the counter, her dark eyes bright and her long hair freely flowing from underneath a woollen hat that she removes with a careful hand. Bethany doesn't ask for her order but instead makes it, getting a wink in return.  
”Just Garrett's unfortunate lack of love life,” Bethany says gently and pushes a glass of water to her hapless brother.

”Him being the only one moaning about it,” Isabela says and pinches Hawke's cheek, making him crinkle his nose.  
”If you guys stopped being so in my face about your relationships,” Hawke grumbles but there is a twinkle in his eye, clear indication that he's not serious about it. Perhaps it's just longing speaking for him; everyone else having someone to cuddle up to during cold winter nights and press sweaty skin against sweaty skin during hot summer days. Perhaps it's even his mother's insistent worry that he shouldn't live alone, _a nice boy like you are, Garrett, dear_ \- whatever it is, Hawke gulps down his water and gets up.  
”Whatever, I need to get going.”  
”But I just got here!” Exclaims Isabela, blinking and lowering the coffee mug she had just raised. Hawke shrugs.  
”Your timing sucks,” he huffs and he dodges a swift kick from her high-heeled boots.  
”You're a dumbo, big brother dear,” Bethany says and shakes her head.  
”Go kick those kids' asses, they probably deserve it,” Isabela continues and waves her hand, sending him off with a flying kiss.

x

The class. The martial arts class with mostly teenagers in it and all way too eager to be the ones to down their teacher with a bear's build but none had so far succeeded. Hawke likes them fine enough, these willowy boys and steel-strong girls and the teens like him fine enough right back but once Hawke gets home he leaves them and their troubles behind. He's not their friend, he's their teacher. Still he does listen if they want to talk, he grins and nods and says a few words he hopes sound smart. He's always in a little hurry after those lessons though, in a hurry to get to the right train at the right time to see the man.

 _The man_. Hawke had first seen the man three months ago, half a year after Hawke himself had moved to Kirkwall and started travelling by the train from the aptly-named Wounded Coast-area to the city center to his small single-person apartment. Just the thought of the man makes Hawke's face heat up and makes him want to crawl under a rock and die there. Just the thought of his friends finding out that he's lusting over a total stranger is embarrassing. So Hawke keeps the man as his own secret.

Even today, on this Friday the thrill of exercise still thrumming through his veins, he keeps stealing looks at the man sitting two seats away from him. The train car is otherwise empty so Hawke has all the time in the world to look like a total creep. Elves aren't a rare sight but they generally keep to themselves; even Hawke's own friend Merrill tiptoes around the city center, not naive enough not to realize that going there alone- especially in the evening- isn't the safest thing. Yet how could Hawke not stare? The man is one of the most beautiful people he has ever seen, after all and it is a lot to think that when his own friends are gorgeous enough to make his heart flutter with excitement when they just grin at him or lean close enough. Yet. Yet. Hawke's face doesn't heat up like this next to Anders or when Varric opens his mouth or when Isabela breaths (although it's a close thing, Isabela had propositioned to him when they had first met almost a year ago and her kiss had burned but she is wind in his hands and Hawke isn't made for such). The man in the train is dark-skinned like Isabela but his skin is adorned with what looks like white ink tattoos, the same white that is his hair, half of it currently tucked behind a pointy ear. Hawke wants to run his hands through that thick mess of hair.

  
God. He is embarrassing. This is embarrassing. It's not like he hadn't ever been on dates or asked people on dates but it had been when he was still living elsewhere and hadn't grown a brain or become the paranoid adult he is now. The man, the elf with his long, lithe fingers is reading a book with his head bowed and Hawke thinks that any sane person would get up by now and go ask him what's he's reading, start a conversation. Perhaps see a hint of a smile. Hawke clears his throat and looks away, just in time because the man had raised his head and looked up. Hopefully not at him.

  
The silence of the train is broken by a familiar ringtone then, Hawke sighs and digs up his phone.  
”Yes, mom,” he answers with a sigh and rubs the bridge of his nose that still holds a scar from his teenage-years.  
 _”Darling, are you coming for dinner tonight?”_  
”Uh.”  
 _”Don't tell me you're forgetting! We're supposed to plan a birthday party for the twins!”_  
”Shit.” Hawke doesn't notice how the man with his odd, entracing tattoos has glanced at him, the corner of his mouth twitching up.  
 _”Language, dear.”_  
”Sure, mom. I'm- oh shit-” at that second, the train makes a deafening screech and comes to a halt along with the flicker of lights and leaving the passengers of the train in total darkness.  
”Oh shit,” Hawke says again, swallowing. He isn't a fan of cramped, dark spaces. He thinks of the man sitting two seats away and finds some comfort in that but still. Cramped, dark spaces.  
 _”What is it, dear?_ ” Comes his mother's voice, the connection crackling somewhat.

”The train stopped. I think there's a malfunction or something. Mom? Shit.” The phone goes quiet and the call ends. Hawke sighs, rubs the bridge of his nose again. He manages to send a text to his mom and then sees a flash of light from the other end of the train.

  
”Hey, you.” The voice is unfamiliar but it doesn't take a genius who it is. Hawke feels the flush on his face (embarrassing, you're thirty-one and here you are blushing like a child) and clears his throat, not trusting his voice immediately.  
”Ah, yes. Are you alright?” Hawke manages and gets up, sees that it's the train man indeed, who's holding a flashlight and pointing it somewhere around Hawke's shoulders as not to blind him. Unfortunately it leaves the train man's face in darkness. Idly Hawke thinks it's silly he doesn't even know what colour the train man's eyes are as their gazes had never met.  
”Are you?” Comes the answer and the train man comes closer, close enough for them to be able to see each other despite the dim light. Hawke rubs his neck, loosens his scarf. He feels twitchy, clammy. Too large for the space around him once more.  
”I- I. I'm completely fine. Totally fine,” Hawke murmurs and sits back down, forgetting when he even stood up. The train man is slightly shorter than him but tall for an elf anyway. There is a delightful scent lingering around him. The low chuckle surprises him.

”May I sit?”  
”S-sure.” Hawke shifts to make space and the train man sits. Hawke sees that he's tucked his book into his open messenger bag, that there are black-rimmed glasses perched on his sharp nose. The train man keeps the flashlight on and for that, Hawke is grateful.  
”Shouldn't we.. shouldn't we press a button or something? Call for help?” His voice sounds so stuttery, so uncertain. He rubs his hands together and wonders where all his exhilaration about a good class went and doesn't wonder how much more can his heart flutter before the damn thing jumps out of his throat.  
”Not necessary. I worked for the railway ages ago and- well. Believe me, they know. These things don't happen often so they're taken seriously when they do,” the train man says. His voice is surprisingly low for such a lithe frame and it gives Hawke's insides pleasant tingles. He clears his throat once more.  
”I see.” He loosens his scarf more and takes off his hat.  
”So I think you can take it easy,” murmurs the train man and is Hawke imagining it? But did the hand not holding the flashlight brush his?  
”I'm Fenris, by the way,” the smooth voice continues and Hawke rather wants to throw himself at the train man's- no, Fenris'- feet and beg him to talk more. Not just because that voice does things for him but because having someone else near by is keeping the impending panic away.  
”A-a,” Hawke swallows, clears his throat. Body, please work. ”I'm Hawke. Garrett Hawke.”

Fenris lets out a hum.  
”I've seen you around, Hawke,” Fenris murmurs.  
”You always take this same train, don't you?” Hawke's heart does a stupid extra beat. His face must be awfully red by now. He looks away, keeps his hands tight on his lap. They clutch his phone like it could help him not make a fool of himself.  
”You're not very subtle with your staring, you know,” Fenris says next, amusement in his voice and Hawke wants to crawl into a little hole and vanish forever. He straightens, leans back on the seat, finds his voice again.

  
”I would have scared you away with what my sister has dubbed as horrible, awful pick-up lines,” Hawke says and resolutely keeps his gaze away from the heat Fenris seems to emanate.  
”I don't mean to, uh, come out as a creep but my track record with actually succeeding with relationships is awful like nothing else and it's not often I see someone like you and you, oh shit.” Fenris hums. It sounds amused. Hawke glances at him and notices Fenris is staring at his lap, the corner of his mouth curled up.  
”Someone like me?” Comes through those thin lips.

Hawke watches, fascinated how the thin white tattoos move when he speaks.  
”I mean, my friends are gorgeous and I almost dated a couple of them once,” made-out with one and dated one for a week before a huge row and two rounds of angry sex broke us up forever but Fenris doesn't need to know that, ”but they're my friends. And they're- ah, shit.” Hawke licks his dry lips, looks away and so misses how Fenris looks back at him, sharp eyes watching every little movement of his face. It's now or never, Garrett Hawke. You can do it. Ask him out.  
”You make me so tongue-tied,” Hawke blurts out and looks, sees Fenris biting his lip, looking back at him. Even in the darkness of the train car, his eyes are startling.  
”How so?” Fenris' voice has gone even lower, more hushed.  
”Don't make me spell it out,” Hawke murmurs, twisting in his seat. He can't stay still, not when Fenris is staring at him. A total stranger, he reminds himself. Yet it doesn't matter because Fenris isn't backing away, isn't telling him to leave him alone.

”Do you want to go out with me, Garrett Hawke?” Fenris' words are spoken slow, thoughtful. The corner of his mouth has turned upwards. Hawke's face must be deep-red by now.  
”God, yes.” The flashlight moves and is now tucked under one lithe arm, Fenris holding out his hand.  
”Give me your phone,” he says and Hawke can't get to the damn device fast enough. Fenris smiles a soft half-smile at him and takes the phone. His fingers look slender and beautiful as they tap his number into Hawke's phone. The train car's lights blink back to life at that moment and Hawke is momentarily blinded, swaying a little in his seat. Fenris has curled fingers around his bicep and gives it a little squeeze.  
”I'm free tomorrow night,” Fenris says and doesn't make a move to get up and go to his regular seat as the train starts moving again. They're not looking straight at each other but Fenris has shifted closer.

  
”Oh, alright,” Hawke swallows.  
”So maybe when we meet up on the train we can.. make plans?” Fenris is smiling softly, looking down at the hands on his lap. He's beautiful in the dim darkness but in here, in the bright lights of the train he's just blinding.  
”Whatever works for you.” It comes out breathless. Hawke finds it in himself to grin.  
”So, you were watching me when I was watching you,” he says, rubs his cheek.  
”Quite something.” Fenris' dark skin hides it well but there is certainly reddening on his cheeks.  
”I... maybe,” Fenris huffs, looks away. ”It's my stop next.” Hawke nods.  
”Bye, Fenris.” It feels good to know how that name rolls off his tongue. He likes how Fenris says his name too and can hardly wait once 'Hawke' shifts into 'Garrett'. Fenris looks at him and says nothing as he gets up but his eyes are bright and very, very green behind the thin lenses of his glasses.  
”Mmm,” Fenris says as a way of goodbye and can't get out of the car fast enough.

Hawke groans, presses hands to his face. Fenris, he thinks. Fenris with his tattoos and bright eyes and beautiful hands. Hawke wonders how Fenris looks like when he smiles a full-blown smile.


	2. Live and love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wicked grace, insistent leandra hawke and the cutest smooch on the block.

Hawke really doesn't like to debate his lack of love life with anyone. Especially not his mother, bless her kind, wonderful heart. So when both his friends and his family found out about the train man, Fenris with his slouch and oddly beautiful tattoos they're obviously excited- and the more excited they are, the more awkward Hawke feels.

”Yes, mother, me and Fenris are going to get married and have a bunch of beautiful babies despite biology kinda getting in the way of that,” he tries the day following the blackout in the train, his mother's insistent voice in his ear. It had taken her precisely one hour to find out he had texted someone, that someone had texted him back and glowed after it and a couple more for his friends to find out or for his mother to tell them because it is such an event for Garrett Hawke to find someone who makes his face glow like that.

”Mother,” Mother insists once more but Hawke sighs, feels the familiar surge of exaperated affection towards the occasionally overbearing Leandra Hawke.

”Yes, I will come show him around if I manage to say more than hello and goodbye to him, yes, yes- mother please- yes, I'm quite certain he will be fond of adopting a child as us unfortunate born as men still don't have the ability to give birth-” finally Hawke says a very stern goodbye and hangs up.

 

He has a very nice phone and generally Hawke likes fiddling with it fine enough but now he pockets it very quickly, ignores the steady buzz of another message. It's not like Fenris would text him about nonchalant things- didn't seem like the type. A sigh escapes, face heats up and Hawke swallows, his throat suddenly dry at the thought of Fenris' sharp gaze. He had never been that infatuated with anyone at first sight and almost hopes the train hadn't stopped, that he hadn't started almost hyperventilanting so Fenris, bless his heart, hadn't come to him with his flashlight and black-rimmed glasses and low voice that starts sounding more sultry the more Hawke thinks about it.

 

”You're being stupid, you great big dumbo” Hawke says to himself in a quite manageable imitation of his little brother (now absent from all the shenanigans as Carver had deemed it a good idea to run away to the army) and grimaces at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. It has a crack at the edge but it's clean and clear and Hawke really doesn't have to prepare that much for his class so he figures he'd take the time to trim his beard which had grown bushy so quickly it had started to make him look like a wandering drunk.   
  


Taking out his shaving supplies takes no time at all and the steadiness of shaving calms him down. He even starts humming. His phone decides to take that moment to ring and snap him out of his daze hard enough to make him slash a tiny cut to his cheek.

 

”Shit, shit, shit- what?” Hawke snaps to the phone, not even looking who it is. His flare of irritation instantly dissolved when he hears a familiar chuckle.

” _It's Fenris.”_

”Oh. Oh.” Oh, Fenris. Oh, the fire of my loins. He somehow figures Fenris wouldn't find it amusing. Or maybe he would. Fenris' eyes had been a little too distracting.

” _Am I disturbing something?”_ God, but Fenris sounds amused and not at all bothered by the snappy answer. Hawke swallows, gazes up at the clock on his hallway wall, visible from the bathroom. He's not in a hurry yet.

 

”A-a, no. I was just, you know me, dancing in front of the mirror and- yeah, I was shaving.” It's got absolutely nothing to do with wanting to appear respectable and handsome in front of Fenris. Not at all. Hawke hisses when he accidentally jams a finger against the cut and it comes out slightly bloody.

” _Did you cut yourself?”_

”Obviously,” Hawke huffs and tells Fenris to wait a second while he washes his face. He doesn't hear Fenris shuffling around, can't see the way Fenris is arranging things to his bag, along with another thick book.

 

” _Are you alright?”_ Fenris' voice comes a little muffled but the amusement lingers. Hawke sighs, finds it in himself to grin.

”I'm glad you are worried. Yes, 'm fine. I don't fall down from a little cut.”

” _I hope you didn't cut too much of your beard,_ ” Fenris murmurs and Hawke doesn't even try to resist imagining that voice in a more intimate setting. _”I rather like it.”_

”You do?” Hawke wipes his chin and jaw with a towel and wonders if he should change his shirt. Not that his students give a damn how he's dressed. He hopes he doesn't sound too hopeful, too much like he's hanging off Fenris' every word.

” _Mm mm.”_

 

”Okay. Is there a particular reason you're calling, Fenris? Or is this a courtesy call” Fenris. Fenris. What a lovely name. The man in question clears his throat.

” _I was wondering if you'd be comfortable meeting in the Hanged Man after your work. I forgot I-”_ Fenris clears his throat once more but Hawke, ever the master at figuring out how other people feel, knows it's more out of embarrassment than an upcoming flu. ” _I had a, err, thing. So you'll have to go by the train yourself.”_ There is that amusement again and Hawke swallows, finds it easier to talk by phone than face to face. 

 

”I'm certain I can manage, Fenris. I miss holding your hand through the train ride though.” Hawke huffs and finds himself presentable and leaves the bathroom. Fenris makes an adorable little noise, much like a huff of genuine laughter. Hawke likes to think Fenris is blushing at that, his dark skin darkening even more. 

”Alright. I know where it is.”

” _Mm mm. Come when you can, Hawke. I will be waiting.”_ Hawke likes the sound of that. They say their goodbyes, Hawke hopeful, Fenris amused. 

 

X

 

The class doesn't go very well. Teenagers are sharp-eyed and blunt at best and the first time one asks if Hawke is in love, he doesn't even hear and when he does, he nearly punches himself in the face. 

”What?” 

”You heard me.” The girl is all-knowing and knows she is immortal with all the weight of her sixteen years but she is grinning. Hawke rubs his earlobe and corrects his own posture. 

”Nah. Concentrate, Hanna. Shoo, shoo!” It doesn't really work but at least the students don't bother him with questions during the class. It still doesn't go that well as one boy hits another in the face too hard and has to be ushered away with his parent with heartfelt apologicies and stern reprimands from said parent. They're understanding enough though, their boy has always had anger management issues anyway. 

 

When Hawke finally manages to the train, he's tired and not at all ready to impress Fenris with his sharp wit and even sharper looks. He had taken a quick shower, checked his phone five times (two messages from Anders, three from Isabela, one from his dad and a missed call from Isabela) before getting in and hopes that Fenris doesn't mind. After all, Fenris had finally managed to talk to him during the pitch-blackness of the blackout. Hawke's hair and beard had probably melted into the background. Hawke sighs and rubs his ear once more, decides to call Isabela. 

” _You naughty dog, you,”_ she answers instead of a hello. 

”Only with you, Bels. What I've done now?” 

 

She chuckles. _”I'm sitting in the Hanged Man in the middle of the most intense games of Wicked Grace I've ever seen and I heard an interesting story. You should have told me Fenris was your mysterious lover on the train!”_

”Uh,” Hawke says, momentarily distracted by a couple of other passengers boarding the train until it's almost filled to the brim.

” _I've known Fenris for ages but never gotten through to him much since he's not exactly social and he didn't go by the name Fenris then and especially didn't get to tap that, such a pity- but you, he mentioned you once and oh, come on, Fen, what's done is done-”_

 

Hawke knows his face has gone a little red. Damn his pale skin, his freckles now painted bright pink. He listens to the sound of struggle from the other end, loud laughter and what's unmistakably Varric's voice and wonders if he shouldn't just go home instead. Except it had been a while since he had spent proper time with his friends and despite his dreams of a proper date crushed (such dreams usually include clichés like a movie and hand-holding and maybe a kiss, Hawke finds flirting often more fun than the goal itself) he's soon smiling into the phone. 

 

”I didn't know you knew him, Bels. Why else would I have kept you out of the loop, you naughty bar wench, you,” he says and it's the exact right thing to say because she makes a smooching sound and shifts the phone away from her to speak to what sounds like a crowd and they all laugh.

 

” _Obviously, Care-Bear. Anyway, you've been moping forever so it didn't take a genius to see there was someone and since your mother is a certified genius-”_

”Isabela, please-”

” _And since me, myself and I is pretty intelligent as well. And you could do worse than Fenris, honestly. I mean, you almost got me and I'm a pretty nice catch.”_

”Indeed you are, Bels.” Hawke hears Fenris murmur something in the background and Isabela's voice turns gleeful. Hawke can almost see her wide, wide grin and the way she's let her hair down from the week.

 

”Don't.. tease him too much. I wouldn't want him to run away. Especially since we haven't actually gotten to the dating-part yet considering we spoke for the first time yesterday,” Hawke huffs and feels a particular longing to the ale served in the Hanged Man. Someone has a good hand and many people cheer. Isabela cheers as well but at least has the decency to hold her phone away from her mouth.

” _I know, sweetcheeks. Fen, darling, your skin isn't dark enough for me to not see how much you're blushing-”_ The call ends abruptly and leaves Hawke blinking, mouth open. The exhilaration of exercise lingers in his bones but it's not the reason for the laughter that comes out, a chuckle that scares the little old elven lady sitting next to him.

”Uh, I'm sorry. It's just, my friends are quite something.” 

 

Thankfully it's his stop next.

 

X

x

 

Hawke manages to toss his bag and maybe fix his appearance a bit and change his shirt in his apartment before he takes the subway to what everyone affectionally calls Lowtown. It's not the greatest part of any city but it's charming and has more little stores and more fun-loving people than the part of town where Hawke's parents- and Hawke himself, by the grace of whatever fate decided to make him a valuable member of society- live. The Hanged Man is a cozy little pub smacked right in the middle of Lowtown and despite the gruesome name that's apparently a remnant from Kirkwall's long and bloody history, Hawke is quite at ease there. He has spent at least a couple of Fridays per month there, playing Wicked Grace and drinking cheap ale with his friends. He hasn't actually ever been there on a Saturday-night, despite gotten a few invitations before from both Anders and Varric. Who ever knows why someone who's a millionare wants to loiter in Lowtown but Varric seems to enjoy it fine enough. 

 

Hawke steps inside the noise and smell of the Hanged Man, the little bell above the door clings and there come the cheers; ”Hawks!” ”Care-Bear!” ”Garrett, come over here!” Hawke slips his fingers through his hair, certainly not because of nerves or because he sees Fenris sitting at the end of the table, hair slightly mussed, holding a stack of cards and not wearing his glasses. His eyes are so green. Hawke licks his lips and flops down next to Isabela, who instantly leans towards him and kisses his cheek. The rowdiness from the phonecall hadn't come from their table- currently only holding five people- but from a neighbouring one. 

 

”Bachelorette party. I'm gonna go out with those two,” Isabela says and points to what looks like a pair of twins. 

”Mm mm,” Hawke says and misses how Fenris glances at him, smirk playing on his face. 

”Hey, Hawke,” Merrill chirps and leans back on her chair. She's the most elven elf living on this side of Kirkwall, her features sharper and narrower than Fenris', her ears adorably long and her facial tattoos all a bunch of narrow swirls and circles. She had once explained what they represent and had then admitted that maybe she should have gotten another god's symbols tattooed instead. It's pretty though, she had finished and flushed bright red. 

 

”Hey, Merrill,” Hawke waves a hand and waves for Leila, the second bartender to visit their table. She already knows him and his regular order by heart and grins, accepts his rolled up bundle of money. 

 

Merrill hiccups. Aveline, sitting next to her, pats her back and shakes her head and looks remarkably level-headed as ever. 

”Hawke,” she says and nods. Hawke nods back. He hadn't quite gotten through to her yet but she had appreciated his help in various things. A stern woman of unknowable age, she's well on her way to becoming a well-respected member of the Kirkwall police force; the same one that's still occasionally associated with the Templars of old, even though the Templar Order hadn't existed in many, many decades. 

 

”Do you.. want to play?” Comes from Fenris then. He swipes white hair from his face and the corners of his mouth twitch in full knowledge of the innuendo in his words. Hawke splutters and is glad that he didn't take a sip of his ale just yet. Isabela giggles and accepts another drink from Leila, turns to make eyes at the twins in the other table.

 

”Deal me in, Fenris,” Hawke drapes his jacket and scarf over his chair and smiles. Fenris smiles back, softly, curiously. Later on, he would perhaps smile more and whisper different things for Hawke. Hawke licks his lips, concentrates on his drink. Merrill can't quite stifle a giggle behind her hand. 

”How long have you been sitting here? And how much have you already drank?” Hawke asks, noticing that there are no empty glasses on the table, just a half-empty plate of nachos. His stomach growls so he drags it and the tiny bowl of salsa towards himself. 

 

”Enough,” Merrill says through a sudden fit of giggles. 

”Just water,” Aveline says. 

”Enough,” Isabela agrees and pops open a button of her already revealing shirt, winking at the twins. The boy splutters and the girl goes bright red. Hawke stuffs three nachos into his mouth and chews, blinks when he notices Fenris has started to deal another hand, watching him with a tentative smile.

”It's entirely by accident that we met up though. I was, hic, supposed to have a date,” Merrill starts. As was I, Hawke thinks and raises an eyebrow at Fenris who hides his smile behind his glass. 

”And I was supposed to meet her husband actually,” Fenris murmurs. ”Him and I have developed a habit of playing cards on Saturdays.” 

 

”Donnic's phone died and he's bedridden and he was so damn frustrated that he couldn't make it so here I am,” Aveline says but this time she smiles, her features instantly softer, friendlier. 

”And I-” Isabela starts but Hawke presses his hand on her mouth. ”I know why you're here, you wench, you,” Hawke mutters and flinches when she licks his palm, her eyes lighting up with laughter. 

”A girl can't have her drink in peace? Come on, Hawks, sweet bum, I only came back to town three days ago, I've missed this dump,” she says once she has her mouth free. Hawke hums, his eyes lingering on Fenris who's watching him right back. 

 

”Are we playing?” That damn incubus asks. There is certainly a flush lingering on his cheeks, those long, long fingers fiddling with his cards. Hawke really wants to see them intertwined with his. Touching-

”Uh, yes. Of course.” 

”Mm mm,” says Isabela and nudges Hawke's ribs with her elbow. 

”Oh shut it, you,” Hawke huffs and takes a good, long sip of his ale. 

 

X

 

x

 

He gets Fenris to himself only after they have managed to ditch the others and left them to their devices. There is barely any wind so they don't have to huddle too close to each other, the winter promising to become one of those perfectly average winters. Not too cold and not too windy. 

”I'm glad you didn't shave too much,” Fenris murmurs, his words slightly slurred from all the red wine he kept slugging through the more and more rowdy affair. Hawke walks just a step ahead of him, his heart jumping almost out of his throat. Fenris is half a head shorter than him, just the perfect height for. Things. Stuff. Hawke blinks, rubs his eyes to shake away some of the blurry drunkeness. 

 

”The beard turn you on that much, Fenris?” He grins, glad that drinking and playing cards had chased at least some of the awkwardness away. 

”Mm,” says Fenris, ever the talkative one as they walk. 

”I don't know why I never started talking to you when I saw you on the train,” he continues after a moment of Hawke chuckling and snow crunching under their feet. 

”I don't know either,” Hawke says, watches the citylights blink pleasantly at them as they walk. ”Perhaps my too handsome aura was too much for your elven sensibilities?” He glances at his companion and finds Fenris snorting, looking comfortable in his too big sweater and heavy jacket, the tips of his pointy ears slightly reddening.

”What sensibilities? I wouldn't say I have much in common with other elves. Like Merrill. She's too... chipper,” Fenris mutters and rubs his nose. Hawke wants to kiss him so bad, imagines it so he misses completely the last part. 

”Mm m.”

”It's good we started talking,” Fenris continues, like not even noticing that spaced out look on Hawke's face. 

”Because I think I might...” Fenris' turn to lick his lips, Hawke's turn to look at them and wonder how they'd feel against his own. 

”I want to kiss you,” Hawke says, interrupting what Fenris had meant to say.

”Oh,” comes through those thoroughly distracting lips. 

 

They stop. Fenris' eyes look even brighter with the streetlights, the chatter of other pub-crawlers nothing but warmth on Hawke's skin. Fenris doesn't answer with words, he takes a step closer and yanks Hawke's head lower to be able to do just that. Perfect first kisses are for losers, Hawke thinks as Fenris accidentally- or purposefully- bites his lip and their teeth clack together once or twice. He keeps his hands on Fenris' sides but kisses back eagerly, the taste of red wine almost divine combined with what can only be Fenris himself.

 


End file.
